


Whatever You Like Best

by CelestialArcadia



Category: Good Omens (TV)
Genre: Fluff, Mild Hurt/Comfort, Other, POV Aziraphale (Good Omens), POV Third Person Limited, Soft Aziraphale/Crowley (Good Omens), Watching Someone Sleep
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-09
Updated: 2020-02-09
Packaged: 2021-02-28 04:54:03
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 730
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22628167
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CelestialArcadia/pseuds/CelestialArcadia
Summary: Crowley has a nightmare. Aziraphale will not let this injustice stand.
Relationships: Aziraphale/Crowley (Good Omens)
Comments: 15
Kudos: 115
Collections: Aspec-friendly Good Omens





	Whatever You Like Best

Aziraphale enjoyed watching Crowley sleep. He still didn’t get the appeal of sleeping himself—all that time spent simply unconscious that he could be using to read—but Crowley was so rarely able to truly _relax_ during waking hours. Crowley deserved that, Aziraphale thought, deserved rest after everything that happened.

And if Aziraphale was being completely honest with himself, which was something he thought he ought to try more often now that he had broken away from Heaven, he was quite fond of the image of Crowley lying in repose, loosely wrapped in blanket and fine silk pyjamas (solid black, of course), lithe body sprawled languorously across the bed, expression lazy and lovely and luxurious…

Though, unfortunately, that wasn’t the image he had of Crowley this night. Crowley had the occasional nightmare, as Aziraphale had accidentally discovered in the seventeenth century and Crowley had reluctantly confirmed in the eighteenth—he _insisted_ that it was no big deal, there wasn’t anything to worry about, just some bad dreams, just comes with the whole sleep package, really; but Aziraphale tended to worry, and knew that Crowley tended, for whatever reason, to minimize any hurt or pain he felt. And he did seem to be in pain: Crowley was curled up almost in a fetal position, holding a pillow in a vice-like grip against his chest, his breaths shallow and erratic as a thin sheen of sweat covered his skin.

Aziraphale’s heart ached at the sight. He didn’t want to wake Crowley, though; he would just be annoyed and probably leave to sleep on his own, and likely end up having the same nightmare again, alone. But he had to do _something_.

So Aziraphale whispered a small miracle into the world. One he’d deployed before, though never to Crowley, and not quite in this context. “Dream of whatever you like best, dearest.” He didn’t know if it would work on a demon like it did on humans, but it was worth a try.

Crowley’s breathing soon evened out. He was still hugging the pillow, but not as if his life depended on it. Slowly, his position relaxed, and Aziraphale thought that he might even be smiling.

He truly did love seeing Crowley’s smile. It made him feel like he was floating on air; like there was nothing wrong in the world, and nothing could be wrong as long as Crowley was happy.

Aziraphale wondered, briefly, what Crowley might be dreaming about. Violating traffic laws in the Bentley, probably, or maybe that one bebop group he liked. But he wouldn’t pry. Only when he was satisfied that Crowley was no longer in his nightmare did Aziraphale return to his own nighttime activities, losing himself in his latest acquisition.

* * *

Crowley didn’t wake, as far as Aziraphale could tell, until the morning started to give way to afternoon. Aziraphale watched indulgently as Crowley strolled casually down the stairway, yawning and stretching out his limbs in a way that should have been just a little bit impossible.

“Did you have a good rest, dear?”

“Brilliant,” Crowley replied, giving Aziraphale a bright, unrestrained grin that made his heart skip a beat or three. “Haven’t slept that well in...” He paused in consideration. “Decades, really.”

Aziraphale smiled, pleased with a job well done. “I’m glad to hear it.”

“Real interesting dream, too. Bit odd. I don’t normally remember them.”

“Oh?” Aziraphale took a generous sip from his cocoa.

“Yeah. You were in it.”

Aziraphale didn’t _intend_ to start choking on his hot chocolate, but it happened anyway.

“A-Angel? You okay?”

“I’m—” Aziraphale coughed, then quietly miracled cocoa off of his shirt and off of the floor. “Perfectly fine. Wonderful. Couldn’t be better.”

Crowley’s expression said that he didn’t believe him, which was fair.

“Well, ah. You seemed to be having a bit of a nightmare last night. So I…helped. Tried to help.”

“Uh-huh,” Crowley replied, clearly not grasping the connection between the nightmare and the choking, which was still fair.

“And—well, I just didn’t think that when I gave you dreams of whatever you liked best—I didn’t think that you’d be dreaming of _me_.”

“Ah.” Crowley, still fighting off the last tendrils of sleep, finally understood. He wrapped his arms around Aziraphale’s waist and placed his head on the angel’s shoulder. “’Course I’d dream of you, if that’s the case. What else would I dream about?”

**Author's Note:**

> I was so charmed by [this tweet](https://twitter.com/ewezfell/status/1224610361157935105) (and my silly response to it) that I accidentally wrote a fic about it. You probably shouldn't think too hard about when it takes place, though!
> 
> I'm also on [Tumblr](https://celestialarcadia.tumblr.com/) and [Twitter](https://twitter.com/CelestiaArcadia) if you'd like to talk to me on either of those platforms.
> 
> UPDATE: This now has a companion piece from Crowley's POV, "[Predicament](https://archiveofourown.org/works/24283531)."


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